Don't Remember
by Rinse
Summary: And Lucy won't remember. Lucy can't remember. Not any longer. The youngest Pevensie deals with leaving Narnia behind, post LWW.


**Title: **Don't Remember

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairings: **None. If you see something romantic in here...it's just your imagination.

**Summary: **And Lucy won't remember. Lucy _can't _remember. Not any longer.

**A/N: **After going through so much in Narnia, it's only understandable that the Pevensie children would be affected as they grow up all over again. I decided to delve into Lucy's character and try to move her through this difficult time, post _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. _This _is _movieverse, but I don't think anything really contradicts with the novel. Enjoy!

* * *

A dream.

A dream - one that poured into days and weeks and months and years, even as time stood still. One that cradled her with beauty, left her breathless and euphoric and suddenly, she was no longer the little girl that cried herself to sleep and allowed the older children to shove past her on the train, but a Queen, larger than all of them, larger than the sky and the sun and life.

That was all - a dream. A dream that has come to an end.

And Lucy won't remember. Lucy _can't_ remember.

Not any longer.

* * *

There is a party.

Susan bites her lip, drowning in deep red lipstick that makes her face look much older than it really is. She zips Lucy into a dress that is too stiff, too _tight; _freshair feels as if it is worlds away._ Why do I have to go, _she whispers, and mournful eyes cling to her reflection in the mirror; such a small child stares back at her.

_Because. _

Susan's voice cuts like broken glass, long and thin in a flowing gown that looks as if it was made for a Queen, but is really just for silly girls who long to be beautiful. Lucy thinks this, but doesn't say anything as Susan pulls on her hair.

The party is too crowded, too noisy; it hurts Lucy's ears. Bodies shamelessly fit into one another, cruel laughter tears into skin, cheap drinks spill on a dirty carpet, and folded into a corner of the room, she can only watch. The man's hands, caught up in her sister's hair, fondling her body as it was a cheap shred of cloth. It makes her feel sick.

_Not like how it used to be._

And yet, she doesn't remember the parties that used to blossom at Cair Paravel - the ones thatwere bright and beautiful and _alive_.

She doesn't remember how every creature in Narnia would come running through the castle doors as the sun sunk deep below the horizon, and food would be served and music would be played and her dress - a dress made for a Queen, worn by a Queen - would gracefully sweep across the floor as her brothers humored her desire to dance. She laughs, shrieks in Peter's lanky arms as he spins her around, and smiles through the pain when Edmund accidentally steps on her foot, and she has never been happier.

And her sister, dear, gentle Susan - her face glowed as if heaven itself had cast its light upon her. Her latest suitor would lead her across the room, across nothing but soft air, and everyone would grow still and watch as they danced, danced until her entire body trembled with raw pleasure.

And yet, seated by the grand table, amidst the music and the laughter, he tried to touch her…and she firmly moved his hand.

Lucy was so filled up with Susan at that moment, who glanced in her direction, caught her eye from across the room, and winked, that it felt as though her heart would burst. She had everything that Lucy wanted to have; love, charm, _pride. _

_No, she didn't. _

That's right, she thinks as a man who reeks of alcohol runs his hands along her sister's gentle neck, and all she can do is laugh; Susan never had any of those things, save for in a dream that Lucy longs to forget.

* * *

There is a trip.

_The zoo_, Peter tells her, ruffling her hair. Lucy has never been there before. Her arms shake with stifled excitement as she buttons her coat, watching the reflection in the mirror perform the same task. She tries to look away, but not before the words run through her head.

Such a small child.

That child should not be there. That child grew up a long time ago.

_That child never left. _

When Peter comes to fetch her, she's staring at the wall instead.

He smiles, holds her hand, tells her that for one day, they're just going to enjoy themselves. She smiles, but it feels hollow against her lips.

They walk, amidst the screeching and the shouting of the animals, among the mothers with too many children and the dazzled lovers and the rambunctious teenagers that look Peter's age, but are nothing like him, are rude and angry and shove her aside when she gets in the way. She tells him, but he can't hear her over all the noise. She doesn't try again.

When they stop to look into the cages, she places a hand on the metal bar, so cold that it makes her shiver, and weaves her eyes around the ugly black lines.

This is the way animals are supposed to be, she reminds herself, watching as the turtle crawls, the fish swims, the bird sings. They don't pull you into engaging conversation, or invite you home for tea, or laugh at a joke you make.

They don't understand you.

_But they did once. _

Lucy trembles as they step in front of the wolves' cage, even though she doesn't remember the wolves that threatened the lives of her and her family, hissed words of true hatred, malice, chilling her to the bone. She leans into Peter as the creature lifts its head, stares into her with eyes as black as night. He rubs her shoulder, and she knows that he doesn't remember either.

Peter leads her away a little faster after glimpsing the fox's cage, and Lucy doesn't remember the fox that risked his very life to save theirs, the warm, thick blood that gathered on his fur, the way that he looked at them with genuine pride, _hope. _

They only spend a few fleeting moments at the beavers' cage before Peter pulls her back to the path, and Lucy doesn't remember the two beavers that led them across the world, took care of them as if they were their own, lovingly bickered back and forth in a way that could always bring a warm smile to her face.

They reach two different paths, and Peter consults the signs that rest on the far wall. The right delves into few other animals, ultimately leading back to the entrance. The left - she flinches as Peter tightens his grip on her hand.

_Lion Exhibit. _

They take the right, and Lucy's heart feels heavy, even though she can't remember the majestic creature that gave her hope, a hope that glimmered in her soul even when all the world felt wrong.

Not at all.

* * *

There is a boy.

And Lucy doesn't understand it.

Something about him, something small and silent and invisible - it makes her chest feel a little lighter, her smile a little brighter. There is nothing special about him. He is just like any other boy; lanky and slow and mumbling his words. And yet, she feels as if they have met before; in a dream, perhaps.

It isn't until days later that it all comes crashing down.

They are walking, and her foot catches on something; a rock, maybe. She doesn't even have a moment to cry out before soft skin connects with cold pavement, and - _pain. _

He kneels beside her just as the tears begin to fall, hot and embarrassed and _you're so stupid, stupid enough to trip for no reason. _He turns, digs for something in his pocket, and then - white fills her eyes.

A handkerchief.

_You need it more than I do. _

His name is Thomas.

She pretends not to notice.

She doesn't remember anything about a handkerchief or a friendly face or a name that sounds so much like the one that haunts her dreams. She doesn't _remember. _

And yet, she can't help but feel guilty, her shoulder gently brushing against him a few too many times as they take a walk in the flowers, in the wind, in the snow, in the heat. She could care less about the awkward boy that stutters through her name and tries to surprise her with little gifts and eagerly points out funny clouds; she only wants him to be with her because - well, it does not count as remembering, really. She can feel his warmth and touch his arm and it is not wrong, not at all, because it is not really _him, _it is Thomas, from the real world.

_It's not the friend you left behind. _

Thomas plays the flute.

He invites her into his house one day, filled with childish eagerness. _Come hear me play_, he asks, gently pulling her, _come and hear me play my flute. _

She sits on his couch, sinking into its softness, its warmth, and smiles as he raises the instrument to his lips.

And then - music.

It is beautiful. Soft, sweet, soothing; filling the room, her _heart, _with joy.

She does something wrong, then. She isn't supposed to, and the music, it doesn't even sound anything like what he used to play for her, and it's _not right, _it's just not…

Lucy remembers.

She is back, back where the royalty dances and the animals laugh and her best friend waits in the familiar little cave amidst the woods; he waits just for her.

She comes.

He plays, and she smiles and sips her tea, softly swaying to and fro, eyes serenely closed. The sun shines and the wind ruffles her hair and the sky is filled with clouds and all she can see is him, filling the room with beautiful, beautiful music.

_You will never imagine the strange dream I just had, Mr. Tumnus! _

She giggles, and he continues to play. Trembling hands set the teacup down, elbows lowering to her legs as she watches.

_I dreamed that I was away, that I left Narnia, and couldn't find my way back. It was dreadful! Peter and Susan and Edmund were with me, but…they weren't acting like themselves. They were acting like our lives here never even happened! _

_I…started to be like them. I didn't want to remember Narnia any longer, so I pretended. I pretended that it was all a dream. It was so sad…_

And for a lingering moment, his eyes meet hers.

_I missed you. _

The music stops, and the instrument is set aside.

His lips curl into a smile, a warm, soft smile that fills her heart and melts her skin. He reaches out for her hand, just like always, and she laughs, laughs because everything is alright again, and -

_Lucy!_

-and Thomas is shaking her. Her eyes flutter open, hopelessly bewildered.

_How was that, Lucy, _he asks, excited. _Was I good? Mother says I am, but she has to say that - it's some kind of law, I reckon - but what did you think, Lucy? Was it any good, Lucy? _

For what feels like an eternity, she only stares into him. She had - just a dream - but it was - she had seen -…

_No, you didn't. _

And with eyes of smoke, skin of ice, and a smile of glass, she nods. _Yes, Thomas. That was very good._

Satisfied, he turns to put his flute away, and she clings to one last vibrant hope. Eyes tentatively cross down, and as she sees that he is wearing trousers, shoes; just like a human, a regular, ordinary human and not anything else…

Queen Lucy the Valiant dies a little inside.

* * *

Lucy doesn't cry.

The others have. They think she doesn't know. She wishes they were right.

Faded outlines against the sun, trembling as the light hurts them, trembling as they realize it is all they have left. Crumpled figures drowned in blankets, whimpering for one more week, one more day, one more _moment. _Angry frowns, a thick line that stains their face, but their skin is wet and tender and she wants to touch them and tell them everything will be alright, they'll go back soon, but she doesn't.

She never cries.

At least, not until the mail comes.

_Mother sent us gifts, _Edmund says as he runs into the room, and they all turn to look at him. Packages tumble from his arms, small and neat and tied with a white string that Lucy tugs at eagerly until Peter unties it for her.

There is a mess of paper and noise and laughter as each sibling tears into their gift. A small glimmer of pleasure crosses Peter's face as he holds up a new sweater, and even though it's summer and warm and bright outside, he slips it on. Susan delicately handles a new book, heavy, filled with golden pages, and sets it aside, eyes dark and confused . Edmund eagerly reveals a silver bag of candy, and for once, Peter doesn't tell him to save his appetite for dinner

Lucy waits until they are finished and occupied before opening her own gift. Gently, she tosses the paper to her feet and pulls open the flaps of the box, and there, nestled in the thin tissue…

…

_Oh. _

A crown.

It's a crown.

The hands of a child - a child and nothing more - reach out and take it, trembling with a feeling that she cannot comprehend. The tiny slip of paper with it reads _for my little princess, _but she hardly notices.

It is made of plastic.

The supposedly intricate designs are crude and cheap.

And when she places it on her head, it is too small, too itchy…

_Nothing at all like…_

_L-Like…_

Her brothers, her sister. They don't notice until she gasps for sweet air, drowning in anger and loneliness and a desperate, desperate longing that tears her heart apart even when she asks it to leave. Their eyes find the crown, and in a moment, they are with her, holding her, telling her that she didn't know, she didn't know, and Edmund tears the crown from her hands, throws it to the floor with a disgusted sneer , and Susan runs long fingers through her hair, loves her again, her and not the man who treated her like an object, and Peter, Peter doesn't mind as she weeps into his new sweater; he only wraps his warm arms around her and tells her that it's okay to remember, it will always be okay to remember…

_Susan giggles, embracing her in a mess of warmth, whispering that she can't possibly be expected to let just any suitor place his hand on her leg. _

_Mr. and Mrs. Beaver bicker about what they could possibly have for such a grand breakfast, breakfast with a Queen of Narnia, and she giggles as they finally settle on toast, only to then have to choose a flavor of jam. _

_Mr. Tumnus smiles as she twirls around in the sand and the water, thin, damp dress slapping against her ankles, and plays a song that she has never heard before; a song just for her. _

And she finally believes him.

* * *

**A/N: **I labored long and hard over this, so reviews are greatly appreciated. 


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